Nobody puts baillee in the corner

I’m embarrassed to use a play off of the Uncle Kracker song I was listening to, but it happened, so let’s roll with it, shall we?

Fall has always been a cyclical time in my life. Some variation of the same events happens every single autumn. I usually start falling (pun only slightly intended) for someone early in the season. The tryst gets more and more heated (which in my life has no sexual connotation) as the days get colder and colder until finally it comes to a grinding halt around the end of November/beginning of December. I dye my hair back to black and coincidentally start listening to Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black on vinyl (as the Lord intended). I start using my coffee pot instead of staring at, groaning, and finally just walking 20 minutes to the gas station, like I do for the other nine months out of the year. What is it about fall that’s so enchanting and so meaningful to my life?

Let’s start with my love life. Really original, I know. What does it mean though? Falling for someone usually translates into falling on my face for someone. It always ends with one of us not being on the same page as the other. Either way, it ends poorly for me. I wind up spending 48 hours watching the saddest episodes of The Office known to man (here’s looking at you, “Casino Night” and Jim’s lone, Crybaby tear), weeping into half-eaten Five Layer Burritos from Taco Bell, and drinking an unholy (as in bring the holy water and crucifix unholy) amount of coffee. I occasionally throw in an awful Tinder or various other online dating medium (OK Cupid, cough cough) disaster to shake things up. I’ve always had my heart somehow simultaneously lifted and broken during the fall. It’s happened for as long as I can remember (or at the very least, as long as Fall Out Boy has been together because From Under the Cork Tree has always been there for me in my time of need).

For some reason, fall has always brought out my darker side. I’m not saying I have a Joan Jett, “Bad Reputation” side, but fall has always brought out my tortured artist. I sketch more. I write more. Thus, I feel like black hair better suits my afflicted soul. Mind you, I’m about as hardcore as a Corgi wearing a pumpkin sweater, but I like to pretend I have a little edge. My creativity flourishes, and my writing flows. I don’t know if it’s my raven-haired/brunette locked influences of Jane Lane, Fairuza Balk, and Dr. Frank N Furter or if it’s simply my subconscious trying to tell me I only have $2.94 to spend on hair dye, but I almost always trade in whatever hair color I have for black.

The explanation for my coffee making relapse is pretty straight-forward. I associate the smell of coffee with the beginning of fall. It probably has to do with my annual autumn re-watching of Gilmore Girls. Granted, the older I get the more and more I become Lorelei Gilmore, and I accept that, but fresh, homemade, straight from Hill Country Fair coffee marks the start of my favorite time of year. It marks my annual Stephen King reading. It marks stores stocking Halloween treats. It marks me having to wake up really freaking early. Most importantly, it marks the beginning of my fall cycle (I will be working on a new title, considering this one sounds a lot like something from my eighth grade health class).

Fall is such a wonderfully weird time in my life. It’s always the same, but it still keeps me on my toes. I yearn for pumpkin spice lattes and oversized sweaters as much as the next blogger, but fall represents things much bigger. Fall brings many a  major change in my life. It’s the one time of year I can always predict but still find myself surprised at the end. The crisp air either serves as a welcome surprise or cuts like a knife. I love how my fall has a distinct personality. It’s the perfect mixture of salty tears and warm laughs. It smells of cinnamon and pumpkin and apple and freshly-brewed coffee. It’s a balance of serenity and chaos. I think it’s my favorite time of year because I know just enough to prepare myself but not enough to ruin the serendipity. See? My writing is better this time of year.